Scars and Stars of Eowyn
by Leah The Mermaid
Summary: Eowyn screamed so shrilly for those she loved and their bluing faces that she hardly felt the arms of Death encircle herself. They were firm, strong, and somehow achingly familiar. "KILL ME!" she choked out amidst her high-pitched howling, like a wounded otter's cries. "It's not real," an equally familiar voice said, soothing. "Don't scream, love, don't scream any more."


Eowyn screamed. She screamed to hard she couldn't believe the amount of noise ripping from her slender frame. She screamed until she could almost feel her vocal chords blistering. But she couldn't stop.

Death, cleverly evaded for so long, had blood-dripping hands around Theodred's throat. Theodred, her beloved cousin. His eyes bulged…and _changed. _Now they were Theoden's eyes as her uncle was strangled. The truly dead became the living, and now Eomer was dying, and her husband, and her children. On and on.

Eowyn screamed.

Eowyn screamed so shrilly for those she loved and their bluing faces that she hardly felt the arms of Death encircle herself. They were firm, strong, and somehow achingly familiar.

"KILL ME!" she choked out amidst her high-pitched howling, like a wounded otter's cries.

"It's not real," an equally familiar voice said, soothing. "Don't scream, love, don't scream any more. I've got you."

Eowyn thrashed until she snapped into a sharply dark, disconcerting world, tangled in a silky nightgown. Her nightmare was over, but she screamed on.

"I've got you," Aragorn's voice repeated somewhere very near her head. His were the arms clutching her, preventing her from whipping out onto the floor. Aragorn. Eowyn stopped screaming.

She tried to look at her rescuer through darkness, but rather felt a warm presence as common as her shadow. Obviously, it was late enough for even he to have been asleep, though he scarcely slept soundly.

"Aragorn?"

"Shh. You needn't say a thing."

Eowyn slid from the arms-missing them as soon as the warmth was gone-and sank into the bed beneath her. Not a nightmare, not the hands of Death, just her bedchambers. _Their _bedchambers.

Sensing her husband flop down beside her, feeling the heat return to the side he neighbored, Eowyn took his wrist in her porcelain fingers.

"This is folly."

"Beloved, it is not."

"But-"

"Eowyn. Everyone has something that haunts them, and is entitled to such. You are as independent as an unbroken stallion, but you mustn't pass judgment on yourself until your mind is clear and you're heart slow."

How logical and safe his rich voice made everything sound. They lay in the dark for a long while, listening to each other's breath until Eowyn's stopped coming in gasps.

"Thank you," she finally said. "I blame myself for the bags under your eyes. You deserve better than to bear my demons. I'm sorry."

Aragorn's silhouette lolled its head to gaze at her luminous eyes. "We bear each other's demons. I may not shriek in my sleep, yet I see you awake the nights I come to silently frozen in terror. You know."

"My horrors are still a burden to you, and will undoubtedly be for as long as I am yours."

"I don't care," said Aragorn's voice. The first time that phrase had escaped his dutiful lips. "As long as you scream, or pace the halls, you are still breathing. Alive. With me. Besides, I...I like this, this 'after the rain smell,' so to speak."

"You like sleeping with me?" teased Ari softly. He was far too fun to tease, his sense of propriety and honor so hard-set.

"Yes."

He wove his arms into hers, and let his fingers gently memorize every inch of her.

"I like this, too." she murmured. Just as Aragorn's muscles began to relax beneath her dozing upper half, he pulled away and stood.

"Don't leave!" cried Eowyn desperately as she suddenly clung to his hand like a child. "My life often feels icy and endless as space. I cannot let my few stars fade. Not when I'm so afraid of the dark that will follow." Words were out of her mouth before she had sufficient time to tighten her tongue. They sounded so silly, like something in one of her favorite books, but the love of her life didn't laugh.

"You know," he whispered thoughtfully, "Dark is such relativity that it is different for everyone. Fortunate souls with thousands of stars are afraid of their relative darkness if a few die out. I myself have none too many stars, so darkness for me would be much darker than his with thousands left. But, though I can't see what causes your screams, I know that your darkness is nearly absolute."

Loosened now was Eowyn's death drip, her head shifted sideways in interest.

"And so, my fair lady, it is perfectly rational for you to be afraid of the dark," concluded Aragorn quietly, squeezing her cold fingers.

"Perhaps," was Eowyn's soft reply, "Or perhaps not. But each day my few stars seem to shine brighter."


End file.
